Pseudo-Death Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Your death was a play,
Claiming as if
You died waiting
There out in the cold
With no sweltering trickle
From the Sun
To fend off the winter’s fangs.

I’ve had many deaths
More than you
And the list could go on
Through Mediterranean shores
And transatlantic musings
But when you said
That you died today -
It’s as if words pulled upon strings.
Your death was a play,
A spineless fray,
A slow decay.

You tell stories to
Muted stones,
Nameless sparrows
And fossilized trees.

You didn’t die in the cold.
The cold died in you -
The shambles of winter
Fumbled inside of you
Like a heart that shudders
And shatters to speak.

Your death
Was at play.

You prattle about a thousand miles
When you can’t
Even engage
In a head-on promenade.

I told you,
Your death was a play.
A farce.